Date With the Artist Formerly Known as Me

I love bookstores. I mean love. To me, books are reminders of aspects of life that are beautiful and fascinating. Some make my heart leap, sing, smile -- make me want to climb right into the pages. Others just remind me how gorgeous words can be, and how mystical and divine is the ability to conjure pictures, ideas and emotions in people by using just words on the page. Partnership with God, that is.

This morning I escaped the cleaning crew by going to Border's. [The question of why I am so uncomfortable with other people cleaning my house should probably be the topic of another blog entry.] My plan was to get a newspaper and have breakfast (check), and maybe find a book on local hikes to motivate myself further (check -- The Falcon Guide to Hiking in Maryland and Delaware). Then my eye caught a row of back-to-school agendas/planners, in bright colors of leather or pretty plastic prints, and like candy they beckoned me. I found a desk-sized calendar designed for family appointments, which includes little stickers for "Date Nights" and vet visits and recitals. I love this kind of agenda because it makes me feel like a mom even though 2/3 of my kids don't live here. Besides, D is coaching soccer this year, and I can write down gymnastics even though we don't have to drop them off. I might actually find that yoga class, or that hiking group, or that book club, for myself. And I can always put in all the Ravens and Penguins games.

I spent almost two hours looking at two Julia Cameron books, The Right to Write and Finding Water. They're similar, and both are beautiful. In case her name is unfamiliar, Cameron is kind of an artist-of-all trades who has written lots of books about nurturing your creativity and the internal Artist, starting with The Artist's Way. I love her stuff, and it's been a long time since I read Artist's Way. She didn't exactly train me in creativity, but she gave a name to what I did naturally (for example, she calls it an "Artist Date" when you remove yourself from your everyday stuff and go somewhere or do something, by yourself, designed purely to add juice to your art, whether it be buying a set of luscious oil pastels, visiting an art museum, hiking in the woods, or attending a slam poetry event). You might say she lent validity and support to a whole way I have of looking at the world. Consequently, I like her. This morning, I decided I didn't want to pay for the hardbound Finding Water, so I read the first couple of chapters while I sat at the Border's cafe with my peach green tea. This consisted of a review of her basic disciplines from Artist's Way, including Artist Dates, a journaling routine she calls Morning Pages, and Weekly Walks (outdoor walks used for inspiration and time to process). I have gotten away from these practices, but I'm heading back to them. Reading about Weekly Walks made me want to walk so badly that, scared as I am, I am determined to try to increase my walking even as I'm recovering. I also found myself wondering if my snazzy red walker could see me through a couple of the easier off-road hikes in the Falcon Guide.

Finally, the newspaper I chose was the Wall Street Journal. Although I'm not that conservative at heart, especially not in financial matters, I love the writing in the Journal, I love reading about things I don't often read about, they have the best wine column anywhere, and the pin-dot drawings on the front page always draw my lingering attention. I brought the Journal home to read later.

Speaking of later, I am going to the Orioles game with D tonight. Since I got sick, whenever faced with a "big" outing like this, I have been consumed by the fears that are my new, constant companions. Will we be out too late? Will I be in too much pain? Will I literally lack the strength to make it back to the car? Then what?? Underlying all of that is the other question -- can I still be me? Can I actually have fun? And how can D put up with me, if I can't? Guilt and fear -- lovely combo. These thoughts are natural to someone in my position, I think, but they are irrationally ruining my ability to look forward to something that should be a lot of fun, something that D loves, something I have always enjoyed. Accordingly, I am now determined to look at this game tonight as an Artist Date and a Date Night. I'll use the experience to enjoy D, to allow my real self to emerge courageously, and maybe I'll even write about it later. I will forget about me, my pain, my weakness, my fears. I will smile, and laugh, and ask D what he loves most about going to baseball games, and I'll remember what I love, too.